


box of secrets

by leslytherinphoenix



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslytherinphoenix/pseuds/leslytherinphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There are some, uh, details about your assignment that weren’t in the file – we just developed them, so there wasn’t enough time to type them up before we gave you the assignments—” Coulson stops, finally, and decides to get to the point. “Anyways, you’re married,” he says, and looks quite pleased with himself.</p><p>Cartinelli, with a dash of Skimmons. Modern AU. Peggy and Angie are wives, for the assignment, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	box of secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tumblr users scrhaiser, rosebyrns, and transboyjackkelly for help and support throughout the writing process.

“New assignment today?” Simmons props her elbow on the desk. Peggy, still organizing her papers, nods absentmindedly. “I heard they’re starting something really exciting,” Simmons continues.  

Peggy looks up. “By ‘exciting,’ do you mean violent and possibly life-threatening?”

“I’m not sure,” Simmons confesses. “I did get a note about being needed as a Bio consult later this month, so I hope it’s something interesting.”

“You consider looking at a microscope interesting,” Peggy smiles quickly, and Simmons rolls her eyes.

“Agent Carter!” Coulson slaps a file on her desk, as thick as the classics Peggy remembers struggling through in school. “You’ve got a meeting in ten minutes. Boss told me to give you this, look over it before, will you?”

“Yes, Agent Coulson,” Peggy says. Simmons honest-to-god  _squeals,_ making a grab for the file before Peggy snatches it out of her hands. “ _My_  assignment, Jemma! You go look at your specimens!”

“I-I’m just happy for you, Peggy,” Simmons says, and her smile falters and Peggy understands what this is about. “Your first big mission since—”

“ _Specimens_ , Agent Simmons,” Peggy snaps, flipping the file open. “I’ll tell you all about my new assignment—later.” Simmons takes the hint, clears her throat, picks up her coffee, and walks towards her office, newly short hair swishing on her shoulders.

Peggy looks down, surveys the first page. CLASSIFIED is stamped across the document, as if that would make anyone want to read it less. She skims over the description. Hydra again. Her stomach clenches. She looks over the rest quickly and sets the file aside, trying to breathe. She glances at her watch—two minutes until her meeting. Deciding she wants to be early, Peggy stands up, smoothes out her skirt, and starts walking towards Coulson’s office, heels clicking on the floor. She ignores Simmons’s enthusiastic thumbs up and Skye’s eyebrow-wiggle, rolling her eyes when she’s walked past them.

Coulson’s door is open. Peggy steps inside, tentatively, looking around to see if he’s in there. He’s not. Instead, there’s a bright-eyed girl sitting on the sofa across from Coulson’s desk, wringing her hands in her lap nervously and glancing up at the wall. She starts when she hears Peggy come in. “Are you looking for Agent Coulson?” she asks.

“I am, actually,” Peggy answers.

“He—he said he’ll be back in a moment. He had to step out. Agent May wanted something.” Her voice is a squeak. The girl clears her throat. “Sorry. I-I’m nervous,” she explains, motioning vaguely through the air.

“First big assignment?” Peggy asks dryly, sitting down next to her.

“First assignment ever, actually,” the girl says. She sighs. “I just wish Agent Coulson would hurry up—” Peggy drowns her out. She’s probably a consult, or someone who’ll be filing a lot of paperwork. Coulson knows better than to shove Peggy into more partnered assignments, at least now he does. She sits back on the sofa and looks at the emblem behind Coulson’s desk. “So, what’s your name?” The girl asks, and it takes a minute for Peggy to register that she’s expected to answer.

“Oh—Peggy Carter.” Peggy smiles and looks back at the wall. Now they’re both staring at the eagle.

“I’m Angie,” the girl says, and Peggy thinks  _of course._ “Well, Angela. Martinelli. That’s my last name,” she finishes quickly, and when Peggy glances back at her for a second, she’s blushing.

“So, you two are getting along,” someone says from the door, and Peggy tenses until she realizes it’s Coulson. He walks into the office, sets his briefcase down, and leans on the desk, facing the two of them. “I, uh, just came back from a meeting with the boss,” he says, and clasps his hands together. Peggy raises an eyebrow, and she can feel Angie shifting next to her. “There are some, uh, details about your assignment that weren’t in the file – we just developed them, so there wasn’t enough time to type them up before we gave you the assignments—” he stops, finally, and decides to get to the point. “Anyways, you’re married,” he says, and looks quite please with himself.

 _“What?”_ Peggy had specifically requested solo assignments, solo being the operative word in that sentence. “Married?”

“You read the file, right?” Coulson says and looks right at Peggy, who swallows and looks down at her hands. “The Hydra lab you’re infiltrating is fronting as an IVF clinic, your cover has to be logical.”

“Why married, though?” Angie asks, wrinkling her nose. “Why can’t we just be sisters?”

“I’m afraid we look nothing alike,” Peggy mutters under her breath, and Angie shoots her a dirty look even though it wasn’t necessarily meant as an insult.

“Or best friends, or something?”

“Best friends who want children together?” Peggy has to stop herself from laughing. “That’s a bit incredible, isn’t it?”

“How are we going to pull off being married?” Angie asks. “I literally just met her—”

Peggy rolls her eyes. She’s so new to this.

“I have more files on your respective covers.” He picks his briefcase up and opens it, pulling out two thick folders. “You’re uh, Linda and Stephanie Prince,” he says, opening each folder and squinting at the first page.

“I want to be Stephanie,” Angie says immediately, and Peggy glances over at her skeptically.

“Here you go,” Coulson says and hands the file to her. “I guess you’re Linda, then?”

“I suppose.” Peggy shrugs. She flips her folder open and glances at a random page. “We met in an  _Italian class at Stanford_?”

“Do you have any more questions?” Coulson asks, ignoring Peggy.

“Just one, Agent Coulson,” Peggy says, perfectly casual. “Do I get to keep my accent for this one?”

“I think it’d be better if you went American,” Coulson answers, motioning to her papers. “You’re uh, half English, so that accounts for any slip-ups.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Peggy smiles tensely. Faking a terrible American accent, she goes, “Yew see, Mister Coul-son—”

Coulson sighs, and his eyes seem to roll up all the way into his skull. “Leave it, Agent Carter, just—talk like you normally do.”

“Thank you, Agent Coulson,” Peggy says sweetly. “I appreciate it.”

“Do you have any questions, Agent Martinelli?” Coulson asks, and Angie looks up from her reading and shakes her head, curls bouncing. “Report back here tomorrow, five P.M., and we’ll get you ready to go,” he says and chews the inside of his cheek. “Study your covers until then,” he adds, and Peggy nods absently, gets up, grabs her papers, and walks out of the room, nodding curtly at Coulson and Agent Martinelli.

 ********

“Wait, so who’s your mission partner?” Skye asks, stealing a french fry from Simmons’s plate and taking a bite.

“Agent Martinelli,” Simmons says impatiently. “Won’t you listen, Skye?”

“I am.” Skye rolls her eyes. “I just don’t know who that is.”

Peggy leans back in her chair, looking across the cafeteria to see if Martinelli’s hiding over there. She spots her across the room, still reading the file that Coulson gave her. “Over there,” Peggy says, pointing as subtly as she can. She doesn’t think Angie will notice, she’s too deep into reading.

“I’ve never seen her before,” Skye says. “Is she new?”

“Fresh out of training,” Peggy answers. She takes a sip of her drink.

“She looks nice,” Simmons says, and Peggy shrugs.

“Well, we’re married, so she better be.” Peggy takes a deep breath.

“Good for you!” Simmons smiles and nudges Peggy with her elbow. “She’s pretty, too.” Skye sends her a strange look, and Simmons rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t be petty,” she mutters.

“So, what’s your cover for this one?” Skye says, and reaches for Simmons’s plate again.

“Leave my chips alone!” Simmons hisses and swats Skye’s hand away.

“Linda Prince,” Peggy says, laughing at the both of them. “She’s, er, thirty-two, Bachelor’s and Master’s in History, works in records management online, minored in Italian, her father is English, her mother is from California, she grew up in England and transferred to America for university after her father died.”

“Fascinating,” Skye says dryly. “How’d she meet the spouse?”

“Italian class at Stanford.” Peggy has to laugh again, covering her mouth with her hand because she feels ridiculous.

“Oh, lord.” Skye starts to giggle.

“It sounds  _lovely,_ Peggy,” Simmons says earnestly. “I’m sure they would be pr—” Peggy stops laughing, puts her hand on her chest to calm herself.

“Don’t talk about it.” Peggy keeps her head down, she talks quietly, quickly, and with utmost sincerity. “I don’t want to hear  _anything_ about them, do you understand?”

“I’m sorry,” Simmons says, and Peggy puts her hand on her arm as a sort of forgiveness.

 **********

“Alright, so you’ve got the paperwork, navigation system, extra car keys, suitcases—” Coulson stops, surveys the two of them, Angie and Peggy, or Linda and Stephanie. “Moving van’s coming in a day or so, they’ll help you get everything set up.” He pauses again. “Do you have your wedding rings?”

Peggy holds a hand up, and Angie does the same, then inhales sharply.  “Where’s the car?” she asks, and, like an answer, a bright green minivan drives up to the both of them and parks, screeching, on the concrete.

“Nothing more stylish?” Peggy asks Coulson through her teeth.

“They want kids, Carter,” Coulson offers as an explanation, and Peggy shrugs because that’s fair enough.  Coulson mumbles something unintelligible, wishes them luck, and stands there expectantly.

“Are we going, then?” Peggy says, walking up to the car and putting her suitcase in the trunk. “We’ve got a four hour drive.”

Angie glances at Coulson, straightens her shoulders, and looks back at Peggy. “Who’s driving?”

“Most definitely me,” Peggy says. She gets into the car.  Angie hesitates a moment, then follows her.

“Linda,” she says, pleasantly.

“Stephanie,” Peggy answers, in the same tone. She presses down on the gas pedal, and they’re both silent, staring off at the road and the sky. This drags on for a good forty-five minutes. 

“So, where were you born?”  _That was probably the longest Angie’s ever gone without saying a word,_ Peggy thinks.

“Linda or Peggy?” Peggy asks nonchalantly.

“Linda.” Angie pauses, chews her lip. “They—we’re married. We should, y’know.” She shrugs. “Know each other.”

“I’m from England,” Peggy says. “Technically. My parents are—were—divorced. I grew up with my father in England, and when he died, I went to Stanford because my mother lives in the area.”

“And that’s where we met,” Angie says slowly.

“In an Italian class.” Peggy laughs, lowers her head. “My Italian is—is dreadful.” Angie snorts and looks out the window, and Peggy raises her eyebrows. “Do you actually know Italian?”

“Certo che parlo italiano, idiota,” Angie says without making eye contact.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then,” Peggy remarks.

Angie shrugs. “I went to school in Rome,” she says.

“Angie or Stephanie?”

“Angie.” She looks back at Peggy. “Stephanie went to Stanford, remember?”

“Right,” Peggy says, biting her lip. “Where’s she from?”

“New Jersey,” Angie says. “Same as me. Rich family – they could pay for Stanford. They’re not too happy about the whole wife thing, but she still has a large trust fund. I think that’s why they can be so well off, considering she’s a journalist, unless Linda’s, like—”

“She’s a records manager for a history museum,” Peggy says. “It’s definitely the trust fund.”

They’re quiet again, but it’s less awkward than before. “So, we’re married,” Angie says after a little bit. “Who cooks?”

Peggy has to laugh at that, because Angie’s so sincere. “If you want the apartment to burn down, I’ll gladly do it,” she says, and Angie looks dubious.

“Let’s avoid that.” Angie threads her hands together on her lap. “I’m really good at pasta,” she says, laughing nervously. “That’s about it, as far as my cooking skills go.”

“I do hope we don’t starve,” Peggy says dryly.

“I’m optimistic.” Angie pauses. “Who cried at the wedding?”

“Neither of them.” Peggy scoffs. “But Stephanie cried when they got engaged.”

“Where’d they go for their honeymoon?”

Peggy giggles. “Italy.”

“Verona,” Angie says. “Romeo and Juliet. Perfect.”

“Where is your sense of romance?” Peggy asks, shaking her head. “Venice. God, they went to Venice.”

“Fine, then. Venice.” Angie crosses her legs, reclines the car seat.

“My turn,” Peggy says. “Who does the dishes?”

“If I’m cooking, then you, logically.” She side-eyes Peggy. “I’ll do the laundry, though.”

“Fair enough,” Peggy says. “Favorite vegetable?”

“Tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Peggy replies automatically. “And also disgusting.”

“What’s your favorite food then, if you have no taste?”

“Any breakfast food,” Peggy says, shrugging. Traffic’s been getting heavier. She slows the car to a crawl. “Do you snore?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Angie throws back. “Do you?”

“No.” Peggy pauses. “At least, I’ve never gotten any complaints before.”

They fall silent for a little bit. Angie drums her fingers on the window ledge. “Who’s on top?” she blurts out. Peggy shoves her into the side of the car, but can’t stop laughing. “Ouch, English,” Angie says and sits back upright, giggling into the back of her hand.

“They’re not going to ask us that.” Peggy’s blushing, or at least she thinks she is. She feels the sudden urge to change the subject. “And English? Really? Don’t you have something a bit more plucky to refer to me as?”

“Nope,” Angie says earnestly, shaking her head.

“Damn.” The traffic’s loosened now, and Peggy accelerates. “Er—Angie—Stephanie, I suppose—are you hungry?”

“Always,” Angie turns and smiles charmingly.

“There’s a McDonalds at the next exit,” Peggy says, motioning to the sign. Angie rolls her eyes. “Oh, you’re one of those health-food types? I should’ve known with the tomatoes.”

Angie scoffs. “Lord, no,” she says. “Just—McDonalds?  _Really?”_

“What would be the alternative?” Peggy asks, wrinkling her forehead.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Angie says, feigning innocence. “Burger King?”

“Excuse me?” Peggy’s voice is skeptical. “You heathen!”

“Burgers cost a cent less there, Miss Pretentious!”

“A cent? Really? Your priorities lie in a  _cent_ —”

“It adds up!” Angie says, and she’s so serious it looks like the world might fall before her eyes. “A penny saved is a penny—”

“I’m filing for divorce,” Peggy sighs, but takes the exit anyway. Angie laughs and closes her eyes, leaning back onto the headrest. She feels giddy, somehow, excited, even though she still doesn’t quite understand what she’s doing—not that she’s incompetent, of course, she  _did_ graduate second in her class, only behind that damn overachiever Dottie Underwood. “Only this once, Angie, I swear. It’s a wedding present.” 

“We can go to McDonald’s and get your damn overpriced food,” Angie says quickly, because Peggy’s nice and they’re married, for God’s sake.

“I was—I was joking, Angie,” Peggy laughs and turns the wheel. “Wait, hold on—how do you like pancakes?”

“I live off ‘em,” Angie says. “Why?”

“There.” Peggy points ahead. “I-HOP, it’s a compromise. First step to any successful marriage.” Angie blushes. Did Peggy just wink?

“Sounds perfect, English.” Angie smiles. “Maybe we won’t have to get divorced after all.”

 *************

“So, what can I get you two?” The server asks.  Angie motions at Peggy to go first, who motions at Angie to go first, and this continues for about thirty seconds until they realize how ridiculous they’re being and Peggy clears her throat.

“I’ll have the pumpkin pancakes,” Peggy says, smiling earnestly. “And coffee, please.”

“Short stack of buttermilk for me, and hot chocolate.” Angie’s eyes flick down to the menu. The server nods, smiles, and leaves, and Angie looks back up at Peggy. “Didn’t have you pegged—ha, Peg!—for the pumpkin type.”

Peggy rolls her eyes.  _“Stephanie,”_ she says pointedly, and colors floods to Angie’s cheeks, “you’re decidedly unamusing.”

“Sorry,” Angie says and sets the menu down on the table, swinging her legs back and forth. They’re silent. The restaurant is empty; there’s no one here to lie to. The server comes back, brings their drinks. Peggy picks up her mug, but doesn’t drink anything. She doesn’t look like a Linda. She looks like—well, like a Peggy, or maybe a Lisa. Not a Linda, though. Then again, Angie doesn’t really feel like a Stephanie, or like a married woman, for that matter.

“So, you’re from out of town?” The server asks, setting their pancakes in front of them.

“Yes,” Peggy says pleasantly, smiling up at him lightly.

“England?” He seems impressed, and Angie raises an eyebrow. “You here for vacation or something?”

“We’re moving, actually,” Peggy replies. Angie stares at her stack of pancakes.

“Oh.” The guy smiles, because he probably thinks he’s cute or something. Angie keeps her gaze trained on the food. “So you’re sisters, right?”

“Dear God, I hope not,” Peggy says automatically.

Angie has to laugh at that. “I don’t know, are we?”

Boy-Who-Brings-The-Pancakes looks confused. “What?”

“Well, we’re married,” Angie says, more sharply than she intended. The server blushes bright pink, and when Angie dares to glance over at Peggy, she’s smirking.

“Ah—well—lovely,” the server says flatly. Peggy grins at Angie like they’re in love, and Angie tries to smile back the same way.

“I know,” Peggy says, still looking at Angie. “I’m absolutely thrilled.” She keeps a straight face, barely, at least until the server disappears, and then she starts giggling. Angie doesn’t really say anything, just blushes a bit and looks down. When she looks up, Peggy’s cheeks are bulging with pancakes. “What?” Peggy asks, or tries, the words muffled. “I like breakfast food.”

“Nothing!” Angie’s laughing, though. “I get it, English. I’m not any better.”

“Good,” Peggy says. “Well, don’t just sit there, Stephanie, I can’t be eating all by myself.”

“Okay, okay,” Angie says hurriedly. She’s really hungry; she tries to eat daintily and decides _fuck it_ a minute later. Life’s too short, and all that jazz.

 **************

They drive the rest of the way in near total silence, because Angie’s full and tired and dozes off, head leaning against the window. Peggy thinks about turning on the radio, but doesn’t want to wake Angie up, so she just drives, grateful for the road, even though the landscape is field and trees and asphalt for miles.

She takes the exit to the town where they’re stationed. It’s small, quiet. Suburbia. Peggy breathes in deeply. Their car fits in perfectly amongst the soccer fields, playgrounds, and red brick houses. The navigation system beeps. “After two hundred feet, you have reached your destination,” it says, and Peggy reminds herself to set the voice to British English because she can’t deal with the damn thing’s vowels.

 Peggy pulls up next to the apartment building. It’s not too tall, maybe six or seven floors. They’re on the third. Apartment 3C; two bedrooms, one bath. Peggy’s got the floor plan memorized already, because that’s what good agents do. She taps Angie on the shoulder, who only mumbles a bit and doesn’t really move.

“Angie,” Peggy whispers. “Stephanie,” she tries, and Angie opens her eyes and yawns.

“Where am I?” She asks, and it’s cute, but Peggy still rolls her eyes.

“We’re here.” Peggy turns the motor off. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

“Charming,” Angie says, then yawns again. She gets out of the car, slamming the door. “Do they have a parking lot here?”

“I don’t think so,” Peggy says, joining her on the sidewalk. “They might have a garage, I’ll check in the morning.”

“Alright.” Angie walks to the trunk and opens it, dragging a suitcase out by its handle. “This is really too heavy,” she mumbles.

“Want me to take over?” Peggy asks. She picks her suitcase up with ease, smiling innocently. “Slacked on your physical training, did you?”

“Try to pick up this one,  _Linda_ ,” Angie says and taps the suitcase with her foot.

“Will do,” Peggy says, smirking, and leans down to pick it up. She barely manages. “Lord—” she says in shock and lets it drop, though it only falls a few inches to the ground. “What  _have_ you got in there?”

“A dead body,” Angie says sarcastically, laughing at Peggy. “I read a lot.”

“Do you?” Peggy raises an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure I can manage it—”

“Dream on, English,” Angie says and picks it up again, straining under the weight but managing to get it onto the sidewalk. They make it to the elevator and ride up in silence. A bell dings when they get to the third floor. Peggy steps out, offers to take Angie’s suitcase again, retrieves the key out of her pocket with shaking fingers, and unlocks the door.

 **********

“What side of the bed do you want?” Angie calls from the bathroom through a mouthful of toothpaste. Peggy’s going over the assignment in the kitchen, waiting for the tea kettle to start singing.

“I don’t care,” Peggy shouts back, “take whichever one you want.”

Later, when they’re lying in bed, Angie can feel Peggy breathing next to her, already asleep, curled up on her side with her hand under the pillow like she’s hiding something. Angie rolls over, farther away from Peggy, and has the sudden urge to turn on the light. 


End file.
